


In Your Eyes

by garbagechute



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is so soft, Inspired by a The Weeknd Song, Mentions of Suicide, Self-Indulgent, Song: In Your Eyes, Songfic, aziraphale is so soft, i don't know what this is, sex mentioned but it's not explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagechute/pseuds/garbagechute
Summary: "Aziraphale could tell Crowley had been shaken by the morning’s events, that he was carefully watching their surroundings as if a guillotine might appear out of thin air any moment with Aziraphale’s name on it."In which Aziraphale has always Known.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Oscar Wilde, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. I just pretend that I'm in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first Good Omens fic, first creative piece i've written for anything in a long time actually. fyi i haven't read the book but good god have i read a lot of fics and everyone who writes these two is just so amazing?!? anyways this is a very self-indulgent work, i was introduced to the show around the same time After Hours by The Weeknd came out and i've been thinking a lot about how to connect some lyrics off the album to my obsession with these idiots. i have 4 chapters total planned for this fic, it's turned out a LOT angstier than i'd meant it to but here we are. will have the rest up within a few days probably. and i'll hopefully write more ineffable husbands in the near future, i have so many ideas but so little time. hope you enjoy!

_ I just pretend that I'm in the dark _

_ I don't regret 'cause my heart can't take a loss _

_ I'd rather be so oblivious _

_ I'd rather be with you _

_ When it's said, when it's done, yeah _

_ I don't ever wanna know _

_ I can tell what you done, yeah _

_ When I look at you _

Aziraphale really had been dying to get his hands on those crepes he’d heard so much about - metaphorically dying, of course. He’d never expected to narrowly escape death (well, discorporation) for popping across the channel. But thanks to his demonic ~~friend~~ acquaintance, he was finally seated at a fine little establishment, eagerly awaiting his order of savory crepes, with said demon right beside him.

“So, Crowley…” he began to ask. The demon looked up from his wine glass, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. Aziraphale could tell he was trying to look as if he had very little interest in whatever Aziraphale was about to say. But his warm, protective aura betrayed him. Aziraphale could tell Crowley had been shaken by the morning’s events, that he was carefully watching their surroundings as if a guillotine might appear out of thin air any moment with Aziraphale’s name on it. That he was afraid one of their head offices would find them here, dining together. Truth be told, Aziraphale was also nervous to be out in the open in the company of the demon, but if Hell couldn’t be bothered to determine whether or not Crowley had actually sparked the revolution, and Heaven couldn’t be bothered to rescue Aziraphale when he was facing discorporation - well, it was really quite unlikely that either office was watching them. Azaraphale could point this out to Crowley, even poke a bit of fun at him for having his guard up so high, but the angel knew he shouldn’t shake the demon farther by teasing him. He shouldn’t say “thank you,” he shouldn’t, dare he even  _ think _ it, call Crowley “nice.” The result would surely be catastrophic, Crowley might just call off lunch altogether and storm off in a fit. Aziraphale couldn’t take that. No, he couldn’t let Crowley see that he knew just how much the demon cared about him. He was very happy he hadn’t been discorporated, and he was even happier to be with Crowley. He wouldn’t tease. Instead, he pretended to be fooled by Crowley’s nonchalance, to continue timidly trying to start conversation as if he were now dying not for crepes, but for Crowley’s attention. Attention he knew he’d already won long ago. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“If you aren’t here for the....” he continued, pausing to find an appropriate word. Distracted by the faintest glimmer of - of  _ something _ \- behind those sunglasses.

“... _ politics _ ,” he settled on. “Well, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Crowley responded, seeming to look for something interesting to tell the Angel. “Tempted a nun the other day,” he said with that characteristic nonchalance, taking another swig of his wine.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but widen his eyes. “You  _ what _ !?”

“Oh, don’t get your pants in a twist, it was just an assignment. Suppose my lot figured I’d be up to a challenge with the commendation and all.”

“I won’t hear another word of it,” Aziraphale scoffed. Perhaps this was what that glimmer in the demon’s eyes was about. And Aziraphale, suddenly, was  _ jealous _ . Oh, he knew the demon cared for him - he must, he’d rescued him today like a knight in shining armor (he chuckled internally at that thought, remembering his encounter with the infamous Black Knight). He could  _ feel _ the demon’s regard for him, like sunshine pouring in through an open window. He dared not reach into the feeling, but he knew there was something so much  _ more  _ there than just tolerance for the enemy. But as much as he’d like to believe, he knew Crowley’s world didn’t revolve around him. Couldn’t possibly. Could it? No, no, it was just coincidence that he’d been in the area, he’d said so himself. The angel scolded himself for the rising jealousy he felt - goodness, how could he allow himself to be even the slightest bit jealous of some poor woman, tempted into  _ unholiness _ by a  _ demon _ ? But who was he, really, to preach holiness? It was gluttony that had brought him here, and try as he might he could not quell the envy in his chest. He was committing the sin of lying at this very moment, acting as if he couldn’t bear to know a single detail of Crowley’s….exploits. But he was so starved with  _ lust _ for the demon...oh, to know vicariously what he was  _ like _ ….but no. He wouldn’t dare ask to know the details. Instead, he straightened his back, feigning discomfort. 

“Won’t say another word, Angel,” Crowley said, smirking. And though his smirk suggested that it was taking him some effort to keep his lips sealed on the topic, he wouldn’t dare let Aziraphale know the truth of what he’d done. 

He wouldn’t dare tell Aziraphale how tenderly he’d leaned into the woman’s shoulder, whispering “ _ Close your eyes _ ” into her ear, so she wouldn’t be frightened by the yellow behind his sunglasses as he took them off. So he could imagine there was blue instead of brown under her shut eyelids. He wouldn’t dare tell Aziraphale how gently he’d taken her, how many times he’d asked  _ “Are you alright? _ ” He wouldn’t dare tell Aziraphale how closely he’d held her after, how he knew he couldn’t miracle away the guilt she must have felt because Hell would know if he did; but he’d silently prayed - though he knew God wasn’t listening - he prayed that when the woman’s time came, she wouldn’t be punished for this, she’d be forgiven, it wasn’t her fault she’d been tempted - he couldn’t stand the thought of her surrounded by hellfire, she was far too good, too  _ angelic _ …

He wouldn’t dare tell Aziraphale that he’d planned to bring her breakfast in the morning, had he not suddenly felt the Angel’s presence in the vicinity. How he’d quietly wrapped her in the covers and slipped out into the breaking dawn, fear building inside him that something was  _ wrong _ . How he’d been so worried about the angel that he hadn’t thought about her until this moment, now, in the restaurant.

“Won’t say another word,” he repeated, as their crepes arrived. 

  
  



	2. I see there's something burning inside you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so this is basically a close reading of the 1862 scene in St. James Park lol. watched the episode 3 montage like 500 times for this

_ In your eyes _

_ I see there's something burning inside you _

_ Oh, inside you _

_ In your eyes, I know it hurts to smile but you try to _

_ Oh, you try to _

_ You always try to hide the pain _

_ You always know just what to say _

_ I always look the other way _

_ I'm blind, I'm blind _

_ In your eyes, you lie, but I don't let it define you _

_ Oh, define you _

Between the top hat hanging low on Crowley’s head and the narrow sunglasses perched upon his nose, Aziraphale could see the faintest two slits of serpentine yellow. _ Must be a trick of the light, _ any human would assume, if the face of the darkly-clad figure happened to catch their eye. But of course, Aziraphale knew Crowley’s eyes. He always had. He’d always been so fond of them, though he’s never said so, could barely admit it to himself. And he could always see right through them. 

“I didn’t really fall, I just, yenno…” Crowley’s lips formed a pained smile as he attempted to smoothly disregard Aziraphale’s comment. Aziraphale ached for him. He saw how those eyes widened ever so slightly at the memory of the fall, and he knew he couldn’t keep up his facade of not really caring for this meeting if he looked at Crowley for a moment longer. The angel turned his attention towards the ducks.

“...sauntered vaguely downwards,” Crowley finished, before quickly changing the topic to the reason why he’d called this meeting before Aziraphale could say anything about the fall. Not that Aziraphale would have said a word.

“I need a favor,” Crowley said. And oh, if Aziraphale’s eyes weren’t on the ducks and the bread he was feeding them, if he were looking directly at Crowley, he wouldn’t have had the strength to say no to those eyes. He’d have agreed to anything the demon asked of him to his face. Well, almost anything. 

“We already have The Agreement, Crowley. Stay out of eachothers’ way - “ Aziraphale paused for just a fraction of a second, stealing a glance at Crowley. Oh,  _ those eyes. _ He bit down the part of himself that hated the way he was always pushing Crowley away. It was for their own good that they didn’t see more of each other, right?

“- lend a hand when needed,” Aziraphale added. How grateful he was for The Agreement, for the excuse to spend time with Crowley, even if it was just a few moments of bickering about their respective assignments before one of them suggested that the other do both jobs, and the one receiving the suggestion pretended to be reluctant to agree. 

“This is something else...” Crowley replied, an edge to his voice that worried Aziraphale. As soon as he’d walked up the bridge he’d sensed that Crowley’s usual warmth was tinged with nervous energy, more nervous than usual. He feared what Crowley had to say. 

“...for if it all goes pear-shaped.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but brighten the tiniest bit inside. What kind of demon said things like “pear shaped?” ~~His~~ This demon, apparently.

“I like pears,” Aziraphale admitted, hoping that Crowley would be amused by him. By him being himself. He’d gotten more and more comfortable around the demon over the years. 

Too comfortable. 

“If it all goes wrong...I want insurance.” There was that edge again, growing stronger. Aziraphale pretended to be oblivious, shaking out his hat and trying not to shudder as he looked at Crowley, standing still as a statue in his seriousness. This posture wasn’t like Crowley, the serpent of Eden who always flung his limbs about as if he’d never gotten used to having them. 

“What?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I wrote it down. Walls have ears. Well not walls, trees have ears,” Crowley said, passing a slip of paper to the angel. Aziraphale mentally thanked The Almighty for the current fashion trends, for their bare fingers surely would have touched had they not both been wearing gloves. Aziraphale unfolded the paper as Crowley was saying something about ducks, clearly nervous of Aziraphale’s reaction to the note.

Aziraphale’s heart (which he didn’t really need) dropped. Crowley’s voice was suddenly far away, muffled as if on the other side of a tunnel. 

_ Holy Water.  _

Centuries passed before Aziraphale’s eyes. The disgust in Crowley’s eyes when Aziraphale told him about the flood. The pity in his voice at the crucifixion. His sarcasm, a little too heavy, when Aziraphale had jokingly asked  _ “Still a demon, then?” _ in Rome. His disdain for their head offices, hidden in cheeky suggestions of camaraderie first in Wessex and again and again throughout time and space - was it just disdain, or was it hatred? A hatred that had been eating him up all this time? No, no, Crowley didn’t hate his job, didn’t hate being a demon, not enough to - to - 

“Out of the question,” Aziraphale snapped out of his head. 

“Why not?”  _ Why not? Because I can’t lose you, you daft fool! _

“It would destroy you! I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley!” Aziraphale shoved the paper back into Crowley’s hand, now wishing that there were no gloves between them, that he could take Crowley’s bare hand in his and tell him - 

“Not what I want it for, just insurance,” Crowley passed the note back to the angel. Of course, Crowley didn’t want to end his life. Aziraphale’s mind wandered again. Countless mischievous grins, yellow eyes sparkling as a  _ “Hello, Aziraphale,”  _ slipped past curved lips. Crowley enjoyed the world too much, he’d never say it, but Aziraphale knew the demon was fond of humans, of their silly little lives and their music and their art and their stories - he knew it’d been no chore for Crowley to see about  _ Hamlet _ ’s success.

But then...at the Bastille, Crowley had said,  _ “Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, angel, only humans do that.”  _ There was a touch of...of  _ disappointment _ in his tone. How cynical had Crowley grown over the years? Aziraphale could take no chances. And how  _ dare _ Crowley assume that he would!

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley,” and he knew there was far too much care, too much affection in his voice. He had to step back, he had to push Crowley away or else he’d step forward and there’d be no telling what mistakes he’d make.

“Do you know what trouble I’d be in if - “ Aziraphale glanced up, unnecessary heart racing “ - if they knew I’d been  _ fraternizing _ \- “ and he knew, oh he could  _ see _ the hurt he’d inflicted as Crowley turned towards him “ - it’s completely out of the question.” 

He couldn’t look. It was taking all his strength not to cry, to scream, to do anything but stand and stare at nothing as his emotions curled around each other in frustration. He couldn’t look at the fire in the demon’s glare, but he couldn’t escape hearing it burn in his voice.

“ _ Fraternising?!” _

“Or whatever you wish to call it,” Aziraphale locked eyes with fire, and he hoped, he prayed, that his own eyes said what he really meant. “I do not think there is any point in discussing it any farther.” 

And of course, Crowley knew just what to say to hurt Aziraphale back.

“I have lots of people to  _ fraternize  _ with, angel.”

Aziraphale knew he wasn’t Crowley’s whole world. But he knew, at least he hoped, that he meant more to the demon than any human did, than any human ever could. And he knew Crowley didn’t get on very well with other demons. And underneath all that anger, the demon’s regard for the angel still shone. 

“Of course you do,” he barked back.

“I don’t need you!”

And that, oh that  _ stung _ . Though he knew Crowley cared about him, he couldn’t really argue that he  _ needed _ him. Not like he needed Crowley. But somehow, over the years, in the back of his mind, he’d figured, he’d hoped…

“And the feeling is mutual! Obviously!” He threw the damned note in the water, setting it aflame for good measure.

His eyes burned with tears as he stormed off, distantly hearing Crowley mocking him. 

  
  



End file.
